Page 8 of When You're Close

Finn cleared his throat. “Me? Frightened? No, I just like to add to the atmosphere, that's all. Come on.”

They moved forward into an expansive lobby with a central staircase, lit only by the tumultuous gray skies through the windows behind. The wind clawed at the panes, shaking them. That felt like a threat.

Finn couldn't shake McGregor's parting words from his mind. The island was cursed, a gateway to a realm of hidden, malevolent beings. For the first time, he wondered if some gates are meant to remain closed. But it was too late for second thoughts; they were already in Huldra House, and whatever mysteries it held were now theirs to discover—or to be consumed by.

Finn took another step forward, he had the distinct feeling that he and Amelia were not alone.

CHAPTER FOUR

As Finn and Amelia stepped further into the embrace of Huldra House, a chill wind whooshed through the ancient hallways, sweeping the scent of mildew and dust into Finn's nostrils. There was a faint hint of charcoal to it.

"Smells like grandma's attic," Finn quipped, looking around the cavernous entryway with a sense of foreboding.

"Don't be disrespectful," Amelia chastised, but her voice wavered slightly, revealing that she was just as unsettled as he was.

Before Finn could reply, a low, unearthly wail echoed through the house. It was so distant that he couldn't tell where it came from, but the resonance seemed to shake him to his core. Surely it was the wind. But there was a guttural, vocal quality to it, as though the noise came from something that was alive.

"What on Earth was that?" Amelia's eyes widened, her professional demeanor slipping for a moment.

"Probably just the wind having a laugh," Finn offered, chuckling nervously. "Or maybe it's the infamous banshee stopping by for a coffee."

Amelia gave him a sidelong glance. "I'm pretty sure banshees don't drink lattes."

Finn grinned. "Ah, but have you ever offered one some? Maybe that's all they've ever wanted."

Before Amelia could shoot back a retort, another strange noise filled the air. It was muffled, indistinct, but Finn sensed a pattern to it, almost like someone—or something—was moving inside the house. And that movement was drawing closer. Without exchanging a word, they started following the sound, their leather-soled shoes sinking into the heavy, opulent carpets that covered the hardwood floors.

The house was a maze of hallways and closed doors, and the dim gray light from outside cast eerie shadows on the walls. Family portraits lined the corridors, each face appearing more sinister than any artist could have intended. Stopping by one beneath a flickering chandelier, he leaned in to read the name at the bottom of the frame.

“Nathaniel Ferguson,” Finn read out loud. The gentleman in the painting, dressed in military clothes from the Napoleonic wars, glared at him as if seething at modernity. “He's a happy one.”

“Lady Ferguson is supposed to meet us here," Amelia said. "Why would she go to the trouble of calling the Home Office and requesting us if she wasn't going to be home when we got here."

“Unless she's ended up being the third victim,” Finn answered. “We should stay sharp. I hate that we're not allowed to carry guns.”

“I'd be worried you'd shoot yourself in the foot,” Amelia said. “Or me in the foot, for that matter.”

"Do you get the feeling that we're being watched?" Finn muttered, eyeing a particularly unsettling portrait of a woman with no name. He presumed she was another ancestor of Lady Ferguson.

Amelia sighed. "Your a consulting detective, Finn. Not a 12-year-old on his first haunted house tour. Focus. We're here for a reason. You are right about the possibility, at least. What if the killer decided to pay Lady Ferguson a visit? What if—"

She was cut off by a sudden crash. Both agents flinched as a black cat, its fur puffed up in fear or aggression, sprang from behind an ornate cabinet and darted down a side corridor.

"Son of a—" Finn caught his breath. "Okay, I'll admit it. That got me. I might actually need a change of pants."

Amelia shot him a look, both amused and irritated. "We're supposed to be hunting a human monster, Finn. Not getting spooked by the local wildlife."

Finn chuckled. "You know, your ability to suck the fun out of everything is truly remarkable."

Amelia rolled her eyes, but before she could respond, another sound split the air. Unlike before, this one was clear—a gut-wrenching scream that seemed to come from directly above them.

Both agents froze for a split second, their eyes locking in a moment of shared dread. Then, thinking someone could be hurt or being attacked, Finn burst into motion, heading for the grand staircase that spiraled up from the entrance hall like an ancient tree trunk. Amelia was hot on his heels.

"That sounded like someone in trouble," she gasped as they ascended, taking the stairs two at a time.

"More like pain," Finn asserted, his voice tinged with urgency.

The stairs seemed to go on forever, each step echoing ominously as they reached the top. The second floor was as dark and foreboding as the first. Another staircase caught their attention, narrower this time, leading up to a closed door—the attic. The light outside was getting dimmer, and Finn was becoming concerned just how quickly nightfall was approaching that far North.

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